Work has peculiar rhythms that you become accustomed to over time. For years Valencia had spent four weeks on the job and one week off, switching between the main Trailvyne caravan and other smaller merchant wagon trains. The faces of the traders changed but her routine never did. In her off-week in Green Bay, she'd spend the first few days trading wares and moving money, followed by her carefully packing food for the trail, changes of clothes, bullets, and tokens to get her through another circuit. And then she'd be off. She knew every broke down car and fallen tree along the route, and how the trail should look and smell and feel at any point in the day and in any season. Valencia could sense from miles away when something wasn't right, and that's when she'd attend to the other half of her profession by reaching for her rifle.
Which explained her growing level of unease as she loitered with her companions on the deck of a Sullivan ship, waiting to cast off. By all accounts is was a bright and beautiful morning, clear skies, a brisk breeze and gently rolling waves. The sailors went about their duties in a mechanical fashion, hitching these ropes and unhitching others, busy in their single-minded intensity and totally unaware of the commotion brewing further down the dock. Waltzers, a whole gang of them, descended on the pier, pushing past the guards at the gate without so much as a look back.
"That normal?" Valencia asked the deck hand nearby, nodding down the pier where the Waltzers had enjoined in a shouting match with some of the Sullivan men. Heat prickled the back of her neck. She and her companions had broken out of a Waltzer jail the night before and had roughed up several of the guards. Considering they had been imprisoned on trumped up charges she expected the Waltzers to let it pass. Their sudden appearance at the dock made her second guess that assumption.
The man spat into the lake and scowled. "Dirty Waltzers," he said, stroking his sweaty, unshaven neck. "Always mucking about our business. To hell with all of them."
Valencia noticed he did not return to work and that slowly, one by one, the other hands on the ship stopped their bustle to watch. She drew her rifle to her shoulder. Just to be safe. The deck hand glanced at her from the corner of his eye but said nothing.
The argument at the end of the pier grew in intensity as both parties were now shouting, their words unintelligible in the wind until she caught a snatch from whom she thought must be the Waltzer leader: "They're on one of these ships. Go find 'em boys." Then he pushed past the guards and went inside the ramshackle building Sully's Fleet used as an HQ.
The Waltzers stormed down the pier only be intercepted by a stout dreadlocked woman who blocked their path. The sailors on deck began shouting as the first Waltzer tried pushing past, and the men cheered as she clubbed the back of his head. With that blow, the harbor erupted into chaos. A dozen pirates rushed from their ships to engage with the Waltzers on the pier while more melee fighting broke out topside.
Valencia watched it all down the barrel of her rifle, concentrating on steady breathing and timing the rise and fall of the deck beneath her feet. She waited, mentally calculating the order targets with her finger poised on the trigger. Cowards would break and run if a skirmish jumped to the next level and the fist fighting turned to gunplay. Countless times she'd scared off dozens of would-be caravan robbers with a few well-placed warning shots. She knew the world drove some folks into doing despicable things. Valencia sympathized with that plight, but she wasn't about to forfeit property---or her freedom---because someone else was trying to escape a dead-end future. So she swallowed. And waited. And aimed.
The brawling paused for a split second after the first gunshot. Then a second and third came from the headquarters and the Waltzers swapped their clubs for their firearms. Without a second thought but with deliberation and care, she opened fire aiming for non-lethal hits.
"Shove off!" a crewman shouted as she squeezed off her first round. A Waltzer's leg buckled and he fell to the ground, a pirate falling on top of him and pounding with his fists. The boat rocked but Valencia didn't lose focus. She squeezed the trigger again and saw a Waltzer howl in pain clutching his thigh just before a pirate clobbered him with a haymaker.
The deck heaved beneath her as the boat lurched away from the slip. Valencia took aim and fired again but this time came closer to winging one of Sullivan's men than a Waltzer. Undeterred she again focused and fired as the ship bounced on the waves. She had been aiming for the thigh but the Waltzer's head snapped back and he fell to the ground in a heap. She swallowed but kept the viewfinder on the scene. Price of doing dirty business, she told herself.
Even just those few shots had seemed to turn the tide in favor of the pirates, who pressed their advantage. As the ship slipped into open water Valencia fired two more times---one that appeared to miss the lot of them, but her second found its home in a Waltzer's ankle and he dropped like a stone as pirates piled on top of him, raining down fists and clubs. The distance from shore and chop of the water soon made firing too unpredictable so she lowered the muzzle, ignoring the admiring stares of the sailors around her.
As they unfurled the sails and caught the wind, Valencia couldn't help but wonder if this would be her new normal, running from Waltzers and firing shots from heaving ship decks. The thought made her stomach turn.
Then she heard Nelson's voice from below deck: "There are how many crates of children on board?"
Valencia watched the shoreline recede as they headed out to open waters and, not for the first time in the last two days, she wondered what she'd gotten herself into.
"That normal?" Valencia asked the deck hand nearby, nodding down the pier where the Waltzers had enjoined in a shouting match with some of the Sullivan men. Heat prickled the back of her neck. She and her companions had broken out of a Waltzer jail the night before and had roughed up several of the guards. Considering they had been imprisoned on trumped up charges she expected the Waltzers to let it pass. Their sudden appearance at the dock made her second guess that assumption.
The man spat into the lake and scowled. "Dirty Waltzers," he said, stroking his sweaty, unshaven neck. "Always mucking about our business. To hell with all of them."
Valencia noticed he did not return to work and that slowly, one by one, the other hands on the ship stopped their bustle to watch. She drew her rifle to her shoulder. Just to be safe. The deck hand glanced at her from the corner of his eye but said nothing.
The argument at the end of the pier grew in intensity as both parties were now shouting, their words unintelligible in the wind until she caught a snatch from whom she thought must be the Waltzer leader: "They're on one of these ships. Go find 'em boys." Then he pushed past the guards and went inside the ramshackle building Sully's Fleet used as an HQ.
The Waltzers stormed down the pier only be intercepted by a stout dreadlocked woman who blocked their path. The sailors on deck began shouting as the first Waltzer tried pushing past, and the men cheered as she clubbed the back of his head. With that blow, the harbor erupted into chaos. A dozen pirates rushed from their ships to engage with the Waltzers on the pier while more melee fighting broke out topside.
Valencia watched it all down the barrel of her rifle, concentrating on steady breathing and timing the rise and fall of the deck beneath her feet. She waited, mentally calculating the order targets with her finger poised on the trigger. Cowards would break and run if a skirmish jumped to the next level and the fist fighting turned to gunplay. Countless times she'd scared off dozens of would-be caravan robbers with a few well-placed warning shots. She knew the world drove some folks into doing despicable things. Valencia sympathized with that plight, but she wasn't about to forfeit property---or her freedom---because someone else was trying to escape a dead-end future. So she swallowed. And waited. And aimed.
The brawling paused for a split second after the first gunshot. Then a second and third came from the headquarters and the Waltzers swapped their clubs for their firearms. Without a second thought but with deliberation and care, she opened fire aiming for non-lethal hits.
"Shove off!" a crewman shouted as she squeezed off her first round. A Waltzer's leg buckled and he fell to the ground, a pirate falling on top of him and pounding with his fists. The boat rocked but Valencia didn't lose focus. She squeezed the trigger again and saw a Waltzer howl in pain clutching his thigh just before a pirate clobbered him with a haymaker.
The deck heaved beneath her as the boat lurched away from the slip. Valencia took aim and fired again but this time came closer to winging one of Sullivan's men than a Waltzer. Undeterred she again focused and fired as the ship bounced on the waves. She had been aiming for the thigh but the Waltzer's head snapped back and he fell to the ground in a heap. She swallowed but kept the viewfinder on the scene. Price of doing dirty business, she told herself.
Even just those few shots had seemed to turn the tide in favor of the pirates, who pressed their advantage. As the ship slipped into open water Valencia fired two more times---one that appeared to miss the lot of them, but her second found its home in a Waltzer's ankle and he dropped like a stone as pirates piled on top of him, raining down fists and clubs. The distance from shore and chop of the water soon made firing too unpredictable so she lowered the muzzle, ignoring the admiring stares of the sailors around her.
As they unfurled the sails and caught the wind, Valencia couldn't help but wonder if this would be her new normal, running from Waltzers and firing shots from heaving ship decks. The thought made her stomach turn.
Then she heard Nelson's voice from below deck: "There are how many crates of children on board?"
Valencia watched the shoreline recede as they headed out to open waters and, not for the first time in the last two days, she wondered what she'd gotten herself into.